


Club Date

by WackyGoofball



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ... a bit, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Boners, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Awkward Sexual Situations, Banter, Clubbing, Dancing, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Idiots in Love, Love, Love Confessions, Romance, and stupid wordplays because I love it, and you just have to live with it, because a snake gets in the way, if you know what i mean, lots of banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 05:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14948229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball
Summary: Brienne didn't want to go to the club with the other colleagues, and yet, here she is, on the dancefloor, with her co-worker Jaime Lannister of all people.And if all of that wasn't bad enough, realization soon dawns on both that they are in quite a... scandalous situation.





	Club Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikkiM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/gifts).



> Hello everyone, thanks for checking out this little story that started out as a one-line JAB fic for our most precious JAB June.
> 
> The warnings go as always with me: I own nothing, I know mostly nothing, I run around unbeta'd, and English is still not my first language, no matter how hard I try to make it work as such. 
> 
> I gift this work to dearest Mikks because she deserves all the JAB for simply being fab. 
> 
> I hope you are going to like it. 
> 
> Much love! ♥♥♥

“Just. Don’t. Move.”

“What? You _are_ aware that this a _dance_ club?”

“Very much so, wench, but I need you to _not_ move right now or else catastrophe is about to strike, and _no_ , this is not a drill.”

Brienne’s mouth opens and closes a few times as she ponders Jaime’s words, a task that proves incredibly difficult with the loud music that will surely have her ears ringing the next morning and sticky air that makes her dizzy to the point that she just wants out. And what is even more difficult is to judge her colleague’s expression, as Brienne has her back to him. However, of that one thing Brienne is certain even without seeing his face, there is urgency in Jaime’s voice where and when she would least expect it, which has Brienne wonder just _what_ might be this most horrible thing that seems to achieve the impossible – and shake Jaime _fuckin’_ Lannister so much to actually sound desperate.

“Then would you be so kind to let me know just what is going on?” Brienne asks, still asking herself over and over why she even puts up with that. She should definitely be back at the table, back with her drink, or rather, right out the door, heading to the safety of her home where there is no pink, yellow, blue, then pink, then orange, then red, then green strobe light making her head spin, where she is in the comfort of her own home, far away from social embarrassment.

“I would rather not,” Jaime says through gritted teeth, yet again with the kind of urgency Brienne rather knows from herself when she means to escape a situation than Jaime. Because her colleague is the kind of guy who seems awfully comfortable in his own skin, is always sure of himself and knows to charm his way even out of the most desperate situations.

In sum, the kind of overachiever from high school you either hated to your guts or looked up to because you didn’t achieve much of anything.

“Well, I am not up for one of your stupid games yet again. If you were not serious about going to the dancefloor, you should have said so before making a grandeur show of it to ask me to dance with you, Lannister,” Brienne curses, but Jaime cuts her off harshly, “That’s _not_ it.”

“Then _what_ is it?” Brienne wants to know, though the young woman tends to think that maybe she is better off _not_ knowing because Jaime simply seems to have fun at her expenses, the way he always does.

Brienne doesn’t even know why she is here at the club with some of the other colleagues, why she ever agreed, why she came along and didn’t flee the scene while she still could. She is not the most sociable person, has never been, which is why Brienne normally always declines those half-hearted invitations to take her along “unless you have other plans, of course,” even though it seems to be an open secret around the office that she normally _never_ has plans. However, against all odds, it was _Jaime_ who insisted this time that Brienne came along, even though that only ever fueled the young woman in her wish to go home and spend a quiet evening in front of the TV to watch an episode of _Buried Treasures of the Seven Kingdoms_ , because they sometimes feature antique swords there. Bu no, Jaime didn’t budge until she yielded, which is rare enough an occurrence to mark it down in the calendar.

Brienne of Tarth does not yield easily, after all.

However, Brienne remained determined to only ever follow through the motions of getting a drink or two at the maximum, out of politeness, really, and then excuse herself to resume her date with the couch. If only to escape all those painful memories of balls and school dances where she was the only one of the girls who would sit by the table to watch everyone’s purses while the rest was busy shaking the hips to either find a new boyfriend or make their _beloved_ jealous by dancing with some other random dude readily draping his arms around whatever frail, pretty girl’s shoulder was willing to let the guy venture a bit further down South.

And as Brienne wrestled with way too many straws and decoration in her way too colorful, way too sweet cocktail tonight, in this dance club with also _way_ too much strobe light, she saw herself right back in those teenage times she tried to forget about When the other colleagues asked her if it’s okay to leave their bags with her while they went out to “shake the hips a bit” without even bothering to wait for a reply.

Not that Brienne expected anything else from those people, but she expected more from herself, to refuse, to go home, instead of giving herself up to what she had decided long time ago was a thing of the past.

And yet, she found herself in the same motions all over again, because apparently, some habits die out very, very hard.

Her plan actually was to get the Seven Hells out of the club by assigning the purse and bag task to the next colleague who would come to the table to announce that she had to head home, but that plan was shattered.

_By no one other than Jaime Lannister of course._

He appeared out of nowhere and didn’t even give Brienne enough time to begin to ask him to watch the bags instead as she had to head home. Instead, Jaime only ever told her: “Scoot over on the bench, wench. Ha, I like that rhyme.”

And that had Brienne caught between a rock and a hard place, or rather between a pile of bags and her tall, far too handsome colleague with an equally far too big ego. To top it all, Jaime then had no better to do but to proceed with his usual kind of game of teasing her, poking verbal holes at her about why she was sitting there all alone instead of “for once in a lifetime actually have fun? _If_ you even know what that is?”

Standing here now with her back to him, wondering about how it came to all of this, reminds Brienne painfully much, however, that this is most certainly _not_ the kind of fun she intends on having.

_So we should definitely start working on an exit strategy, right now!_

“What this is… is kind of… _hard_ … to explain,” Jaime argues, sounding out of breath, if she hears it correctly, though maybe the club version of _The Dornishman’s Wife_ distorts his voice enough for Brienne to hear things not there.

“Well, I won’t wait for you to come around answering me properly,” Brienne retorts. “I will now go back to the table, finish my drink, and then I am out of here. I really don’t have to give myself any of this, Seven Hells.”

He asked her to dance, and now what? The strobe light made him realize just how ugly she actually is? Is that the thing? Brienne, for a split second, dared to believe that Jaime may actually prove to be decent enough to show her some courtesy and ask her to dance because no one else was doing it, but here she thought wrong again.

_As always._

“Wait, wait, wait, _please_!” Jaime stammers.

Brienne’s frown only ever deepens. Jaime Lannister begging you with a “ _please_ ” is more unlikely than being attacked by a shark in the middle of the Dornish desert, that much she knows. The lion does not concern himself with the opinion of the sheep and all those other phrases Jaime likes to throw at her whenever they speak of such matters.  

_But it doesn’t make a difference, does it?_

Jaime was the one who dragged her to the dancefloor, it was him who asked her for a dance, and indeed he danced with her for about a minute or so before someone managed to bump into Brienne to make her almost fall over if she hadn’t bended down in time to use her hands to cushion the fall. And now she stands with her back to Jaime who is way too close to her liking, not giving her enough space to properly straighten up thanks to the many other people surrounding them, even though her calves are protesting already.

“Well, you either tell me what the matter is or I am out of here,” Brienne warns him. “I actually _do_ have better to do than that.”

Because to make matters _impossibly_ worse, Brienne is just so fed up with the notion that everyone seems to have of her, namely that she has no better to do just because she doesn’t go out with the rest of the colleagues, as though that was the only way to measure one’s social status by. Breinne is fed up being laughed at in this certain kind of way, the pitiful “poor girl” way that she wanted to bury back in high school already, and Brienne, most certainly, does not need anyone’s pity.

Even less so that of Jaime Lannister, who would likely even boast for having asked her for a dance and thus parade himself for his act of bravery.

_No, this is definitely the end of the line._

“Wench, this is…,” Jaime means to say, but then someone bumps into _him_ this time, which Brienne would consider almost a wink of fate, if not for the fact that Jaime thus bumps right into _her_ in turn.

_Great._

She already opens her mouth to snap at him, but that is when Brienne stares as Jaime instinctively grabs her by the waist to pull them back up to prevent the both of them from falling over on their noses, which puts them far too close, _way_ too closely together by the hip and lower back region, respectively.

And that is when she feels something rather big and long press against her tailbone that has Brienne’s blue eyes open impossibly wider to the point that stars appear in her vision thanks to the stupid strobe light being far too bright in this even stupider dance club she never should have come to.

_That can’t be true, can it?_

“That is not your wallet, is it?” she asks slowly, unable to move.

“Wallets have a bit of a different shape, I think,” Jaime answers.

“Now you are making jokes about it?” she curses.

_He can’t be serious, can he?_

“I am trying to act _natural_ , alright? And so should you,” Jaime mutters, leaning in a little closer so that no one hears what is going on, though thankfully, most other people on the dancefloor are far too preoccupied shaking their hips, moving more or less to the beat, and supposedly find someone to spend the night with thanks to their “smooth” dance moves. However, Brienne can’t waste much thought on what is surrounding her as Jaime leaning in so very close only ever makes her more aware of the _thing_ pressing against her lower back, makes her aware of how close she stands to Jaime, the heat of his body radiating from his skin…

Brienne lets out a shuddered breath. She definitely should have gone home instead of coming along for the drinks. That was not at all how she planned this evening to go.

Those are not the kinds of _swords_ she wanted to see tonight, or even less so… _feel_.

“So you are… you have a… _right now_?” Brienne asks in utter disbelief, her voice growing frantic as she tries to control her breathing, but fails miserably at the task.

“Yes, which is why I told you not to move,” Jaime mutters, barely moving his lips apart as he speaks. “But of course you don’t listen, ever.”

“You bumped into me,” Brienne insists.

“Not on purpose!” Jaime retorts, but then gathers himself with a hiss. “But anyway, you now see… _feel_ … why I didn’t want you to move away, yes? So can we now agree on you not going anywhere for the moment?”

“And what do you intend to do now? Wish it away?” Brienne blurts out asking.

“Well, you could always blow on it to make it better…,” Jaime wants to joke, but then she can feel him bend over to put a bit of distance between what just awakened between his legs and her lower back. “Oh _fuck_ , that is not helping.”

“Serves you right, for the record,” Brienne huffs. “And anyway, that you have to drag _me_ into this is so unfair of you.”

Why does she always have to be the one to help him out? Jaime loses his stapler? He will get hers. Jaime can’t find his car keys? He will get the answer from Brienne because he always puts it in the same spot, but forgets it anyway. Jaime is looking for a partner for the next project? It has to be “the wench.” And truth be told, Brienne is fed up being the one to always help this man out, even more so in such a situation.

After all, it’s not like it’s her fault that Jaime can’t seem to keep his eyes to himself. There are plenty of women in little clothing to the point of obscenity, but that is something he has to be prepared for when he goes to a club, right? How is it Brienne’s problem now that Jaime, like any other guy, just can’t seem to keep it in his pants when he sees a pretty woman shake her hips and her _big girls_ at him seductively?

“You know, this is not exactly on purpose. That’s why they are called _accidental_ ,” Jaime retorts. “Or do you really think I want for this to happen _in public_ , wench?”

“Then think of something that… makes _it_ go away… and be quick about it,” Brienne argues.

She should just walk away. What does it concern Brienne that her colleague apparently wants to hook up with another girl and perhaps even tried the move Brienne has seen her age peers perform back in the day and dance with someone else to get the lady’s interest?

She should walk away, grab her jacket, and get the Seven Hells out of here, and yet, her body remains stubbornly in place, like a deer keeps staring at the headlight in sheer shock.

“Don’t you think I am _trying_? But having you rub against me is not exactly helping right now,” Jaime mutters, his voice coming out very strained.

“You told me to…,” Brienne wants to retort, but he interrupts her, “I _know_. But it makes no difference. Now, I need your help, understand?”

“What kind of _help_?” the young woman questions.

“You continue dancing with me so that we can get off the dancefloor without people looking at us for storming off the dancefloor and thereby likely exposing my crotch area. Then I can escape to the bathrooms and take up a stall until my little friend goes back to sleep. Can you do that for me, wench… _Brienne_?”

She blinks at that, because Jaime rarely uses her name these days. Ever since he discovered that Brienne has a fable for medieval antiquities, he made a habit of it to call her “wench” around the office, no matter how often she tells him to call her by her name. However, Jaime Lannister is stubborn past the point of sense. And somehow, having him say her name now makes the fine hairs on Brienne’s neck stand up straight and her heart beat much faster.

_Just what is going on here? This is mad!_

“I am not really a gifted dancer…,” she means to say, but Jaime isn’t having it, “Wench, we are not taking part in a dancing contest. We just have to get off the dancefloor without calling too much attention to ourselves. So just follow my moves as I try to maneuver us off the dancefloor without crotch action, yes?”

“Why am I helping you again?” Brienne asks, yet again finding her heart beat faster, faster, faster as the music changes from the club version of _The Dornishman’s Wife_ to the techno version of _Six Maids in a Pool_.

A music version straight from the pits of the Seven Hells in her opinion, but then again, so seems to be this entire situation, so it is almost fitting again.

“Because when the people see the _pocket rocket_ launch, they are likely going to assume that you had an active part in it that I am now in this state, because people will not ask questions and just assume. Do you want that?” Jaime tells her.

“No?” she answers, though this sentence certainly makes it dawn on Brienne that she just got dragged into something she cannot refuse but help him with, or else she will suffer for this as much as Jaime will.

Though Brienne definitely plans on making him suffer for putting her through this in turn, once they are out of this situation.

And all that because she had to let herself be convinced to dance with her colleague. Brienne should have stayed at the table. She should have continued her fight with the cocktail instead.

_And now this is the cock-tail I have to put up with… ugh._

“Then shake those hips and let’s get moving,” Jaime declaresd, tightening his grip on either side of her waist and giving Brienne a sharp tug to the left to spin them around.

Brienne doesn’t even know what is happening as she finds herself dancing very, very, very close with Jaime of all people in entire Westeros, to the point that she can feel his member pressing against her even more firmly than before, which is a level of physical contact Brienne is neither prepared nor ready for. Heat rises to her cheeks in the rhythm of the techno beats, crawls up her lower back, all the way over her spine, only to paint her freckled face an even darker shade of red she just hopes will get lost in the strobe light.

And all that because all guys seem to be the same, even Jaime, who always claims that there are no men like him. In the end, there seem to be plenty enough of men like Jaime Lannister who can’t help their _condition_ whenever they see a short mini skirt or a pretty lady sensually biting her lip as she bends down for yet another more or less rhythmical shake of the hips.

And to make it all so very worse for Brienne, as she finds herself awkwardly dancing backwards, moving her hip against Jaime’s crotch as little as she can without giving it away that they are really just trying to get off the dancefloor, is that she thought it a nice gesture at first. When Jaime held out his hand to her and told her to dance with him, Brienne honestly wanted to believe that her colleague, for once, wanted to help her out for all the staplers, for all the times he called her “wench” even during business meetings with investors, and not let her sit around all by herself and watch the bags. She genuinely thought that, for those three and a half minutes at least, Jaime would manage to keep his attention on her, on their awkward little dance as they kept a well-measured distance and only ever held their right hands together while the other rested awkwardly on the partner’s shoulder. When he kept laughing and smiling in that almost – _but just almost_ – charming kind of way, Brienne wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, Jaime was not simply being considerate but actually enjoyed himself with her.

However, that seemingly couldn’t be further from the truth, or else, of that Brienne is certain, she would not be in the situation she is currently in, shaking her hips while moving backwards to the unsteady rhythm of Jaime’s turns.

“We are almost there,” Jaime mutters into the nape of her neck, which only ever makes Brienne feel more pathetic about herself as this sends shivers down her spine, which are then reciprocated by sending another wave of heat up to her cheeks.

_Just what was in that damned cocktail?_

“I will kill you for that once we are out of this situation, you are aware?” Brienne curses through gritted teeth, looking around, trying to focus on anything but the feeling of Jaime’s member pressing against her rear.

“Let’s delay the death threats until we are in the safety zone, can we agree on that?” Jaime scoffs.

“This is just a fair warning,” she retorts.

Jaime doesn’t say anything at that and only ever gives her hip another tug to the left. Brienne gapes at that once it dawns on her what that is supposed to mean.

“Did you just… did you seriously just do that to make me be quiet?!” she curses under her breath.

“Maybe.”

“You are definitely dead,” Brienne swears, moving her head from right to left slowly as her neck keeps straining from sheer anger.

“Maybe. I can run pretty fast,” Jaime argues. “Alright, we are now getting towards the end of the floor.”

Brienne means to distract herself by trying to spot her other colleagues in the crowd, but can’t seem to find a single one of them, safe for Daario who is surrounded by three very willing women rubbing their hands up and down the length of his body, something that he evidently enjoys very, _very_ much.

And it is that kind of sight that Brienne needed the very least, which is why she is quick to avert her gaze, back to her feet, which are still shuffling over the smooth black dancefloor.

She lets out a small yelp when Jaime readjusts his grip on her hips without prelude and then lifts her a bit off the ground.

“Told you I am strong enough,” he tells her, and she can hear that hint of a smile Brienne finds Jaime is not entitled to at all right at this point of time.

“What was that for anyway?” Brienne demands to know, running the flat of her hand over face to wipe some of the beads of sweat away.

“There was an edge and I wouldn’t want my armor and shield to fall over yet again,” Jaime mutters.

“You could have just warned me,” Brienne insists.

“Or I could have just taken care of it. Now don’t get difficult over _this_ if you are already helping me on the much more… awkward matter, hm?” Jaime suggests.

“Fine,” Brienne huffs. “Let’s just get over with it.”

“That is most certainly my plan,” Jaime sighs, turning his head around towards the bathrooms.

“Oh, they have to be fuckin’ kidding me!” Jaime cries out when he sees the line for both women’s and men’s bathrooms. Brienne looks around as well, not at all happy to see that both queues will mean at least a few minutes of waiting.

“And you are still…,” Brienne asks breathlessly, to which Jaime only ever nods his head slowly, eyes still fixed on the people in line. “Very much so, to the point that I think even pretending that I just need a piss is not going to work in the long-run. To Hells with all of this!”

Brienne turns her head at the sound of a door swing open and close a few times. She cranes her neck to look around the corner to the narrow hallway running parallel to the bathrooms to watch one of the barmen walk back inside through the swing door on the far end, taking a still burning cigarette out of his mouth to quickly put it out and hide it away in his chest pocket, seemingly having forgotten it in the haze.

“Wench, no! Hey! Where do you think are you moving now?” Jaime snaps as she moved a bit away from him in the process.

“I think I may have found a solution, c’mon,” Brienne says, simply grabbing Jaime’s wrist to pull the man around and into the now empty hallway.

“What are you… oh, good, exit!” Jaime says once he sees the door at the other end promising a way out of this most precarious situation. The two hurry towards the end, constantly checking whether someone is coming after them as they go. Brienne keeps her eyes to the front at all times, though even from the corner of her eye she can see Jaime struggling to use his left hand to cover his crotch situation, and he was right, he would have had trouble hiding that.

_Seven Hells…_

Once they reach the end of the narrow hallway, Brienne quickly looks through the round, scuttle-like window of the door, thankfully seeing no one outside, before she drags her colleague along wordlessly and out the door.

Brienne welcomes the cold evening air hitting her inflamed skin, and behind her, the young woman can hear Jaime letting a silent sigh of relief as well.

The two quickly walk down the stairs and behind the dumpster to the left to shield themselves from view, in case another barman decides it’s time for a cigarette break and may have some questions they are not ready to answer.

Jaime leans against the brick wall heavily, his left hand protectively over his crotch, still. Brienne finds what she only ever caught from the corner of her eye validated as there is no way of denying that Jaime wouldn’t need the bathroom only just to relieve himself. However, as that thought passes her mind, Brienne can feel electricity rage throughout her body as it reminds her that she is standing face-to-face with Jaime, looking right at his crotch.

Brienne, as if stung by an adder, whirls around abruptly.

“Got scared by the one-eyed trouser snake?” Jaime japes with a forced kind of smile.

“The fact that you are the one now making jokes at this should tell you something about your character definitely being one of the worst kind,” Brienne says, hugging her flat chest. “But anyway, I have no business with that anymore. I think I have served my sentence as your _shield and armor_ , yes?”

“I… I am _really_ sorry about that,” Jaime says, more hesitant this time.

“Well, next time, you may want to remember what you always tell me – you are so good-looking that you can have just _anyone_. So when your snake comes for visit again, just grab the girl you want to hook up with and use _her_ for the matter instead of your colleague. Can we agree on that?”

Jaime blinks at her repeatedly, only for his face to settle in an incredulous frown. “What… I have no clue what you are talking about right now.”

“That is no conversation I want to have,” Brienne argues.

This is no situation she wants to be in either.

Then she rather watches over the bags for the rest of the damned night, if only that spared her any more of this, any more of the heat she still feels battling against the cold of the wind rushing down the narrow alleyway.

“Well, you started it right now, wench,” Jaime argues. “Talking about some kind of mystery woman I seem to have missed in the crowd.”

“Well, clearly, you must have gotten the… _snake_ … from somewhere, I mean some _one_. So whatever lady you had your eyes on while we danced to get yourself into that state, ask her to help you out next time. That is all I am saying,” Brienne answers defensively.

“I still have no clue what you are talking about. I didn’t hook up with anyone,” Jaime argues. “Or else I would hardly be in that state, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, as this situation just now should prove, your… _snake_ … seems to come peek its head out at the mere chance of hooking up, too. But that shouldn’t be of _my_ concern. Or do you really think that _any_ of the women in there was too shy if you had said to any of them that you are… in that _state_ and would like to take this somewhere else?” Brienne huffs.

“Again, I was dancing with you. That ominous woman who you think unleashed the anaconda did not exist,” Jaime insists with a kind of vehemence that only ever adds to Brienne’s already great confusion.

“Your point being what exactly?” she asks.

“Well, you make it sound like I was dancing with you while looking up other ladies’ skirts with watered mouth all the time. That is not so,” Jaime tells her, meaning to make a stop forward, but that seems to be something the snake very much disagrees with, so Jaime leans back against the wall with a groan.

“Then what _was_ it, just so that I know?” Brienne questions.

Just so that she can put it to rest, can stuff it away and never think about it again while watching the recording of _Buried Treasures of the Seven Kingdoms._ Just so that Brienne can safely file this under “awkward situations I got dragged into though I had no part in them.” Just so that it’s over.

“What I said is what it is! I danced with you – and then the rocket pocket launched. I did not mean for that to happen, but it did. And I am sorry that you now had to help me out, but in my defense…,” Jaime means to say, but Brienne cuts him off rather harshly, “No, no, no defense talk now.”

 _This is inexcusable!_ And Brienne is fed up with having people making half-hearted excuses, half-hearted invitations. From someone as passionate and hard-working as Jaime, she honestly wanted to expect better, but even that seems to be something that Brienne was wrong about.

“Fine, no defense talk, then,” Jaime spats. “But it just happened to be so because my colleague had to bend down in front of me in ways I was not ready _or_ prepared for.”

Brienne turns her head abruptly. “… What?!”

“What?” he mimics her, pulling the corners of his mouth into a grimace.

“You are not trying to tell me that I am the cause of this, now are you?” Brienne asks.

“ _You_ wanted to know, and this is what it is. I know it’s inappropriate and I normally have a lot more self-constraint, believe me that much, but I saw what I saw, and that was panty line, and the pocket rocket thus decided to launch the missile,” Jaime says, standing at a very awkward angle as the missile really wants to get out, it seems.

Brienne turns around over her shoulder. “How would that even remotely be true? Jaime, I know what I look like, I know that I don’t induce… such reactions by merely looking at a guy, I don’t induce such reactions… at all most of the time. So if you now just want to push the blame to me, you can forget about it right away, because I know that this is… just too unlikely.”

“Do I really have to make a case for my awkward boner now, wench?” Jaime grunts, gesturing down himself. “Or do you honestly think that I would still be in this condition if you had no part in it whatsoever? Wench, you just now stood in front of me almost exactly like you did in the club and it is driving me _mad_.”

“Which is why I should have gone back inside like… five minutes ago,” Brienne argues.

_Did he just say what I think he said? And did he mean what he said?_

And what does that mean to her in turn? Brienne is not sure, absolutely not sure. All she can seem to focus on right at this point of time is the fact that she should have stayed home, so that none of this would have happened.

I just have to get out of here.

Brienne turns to make a run for the stairs, but then Jaime calls out, “Wait.”

“No. I have bags to watch and then get the Seven Hells out of here,” Brienne argues. Or rather, she has any intention to just grab her briefcase and then hail down the next best cab to get back home, lock the doors, and only ever creep out once it’s Monday again and she has come up with a strategy of how to deal with this like a businesswoman rather than she would have as a teenager.

“Brienne, _please_ , I am trying to explain, but this is incredibly difficult for me right now, can you imagine?” Jaime says.

“Do you think I have that happen to me on a regular basis?” she huffs.

“You think _I_ do?” he snaps.

Brienne rolls her broad shoulders to ease some of the tension out of them. “Well, then try so that we can get over with this. Because I would rather not have to sign my resignation papers over the weekend just so that I don’t have to run into you again.”

“I wanted to take things slow, alright, but my little friend kind of spoiled the game before I could get to it,” Jaime blurts out saying, seemingly surprising himself about as much with the message as Brienne, who can do nothing but stare at him in sheer disbelief, which seems to be a regular thing now with Jaime.

“Game?” she repeats.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you, wench? Or is it that it’s not just fun you don’t know how to have but also what it’s like to have someone flirt with you?” he retorts, screwing his eyes shut in frustration – and apparent discomfort in the regions below the belt.

“ _Flirt_ with me? _This_ is flirting to you?” Brienne asks, pointing a shaky finger in his direction.

“Most certainly _not_. I asked you for a dance. That is flirting in my book. I wanted to move to the next stages _very_ slowly, because I know you and I know that you, against the odds of your bravery and stubbornness are rather shy when it comes to those matters… but my body decided otherwise and did not involve me in the decision process,” Jaime says, shaking his head, the strands of his dark blond hair falling into his eyes.

“Wait, wait, _wait_. You say… you are saying that you are… flirting with me,” Brienne repeats, still not believing what she hears.

Jaime Lannister – flirting with her?

Jaime Lannister – being into her to start flirting with her?

“Have been in quite some time. Thanks for noticing,” he huffs.

“I am just trying to wrap my head around it that you think asking for staplers and naughty questions about my sex life is considered flirting,” Brienne retorts defensively.

It never would have crossed her mind that Jaime would want anything more than tease her all day long at the office, if only just to have her scowl at him. Brienne thought he was only ever joking when he lamented about how he didn’t have a girlfriend, didn’t have sex “in aaaaaaages.”

“One is a pretense to talk to you, the other is an effective way to learn whether you are actually dating someone else. Because the little minx you are, whenever I asked you whether you would come with get some drinks or a coffee after work, you said you had a date with this ominous Nestor. I mean, who names a couch Nestor?”

“The manufacturers listed it as NESTOR,” Brienne says simply, shrugging her shoulders. “And I told you often enough that I don’t talk personal the best I can during business hours.”

“Well, you finally slipped up and said ‘couch’ instead of ‘Nestor’ today, so I finally had my confirmation that you were indeed not dating. Thus I thought tonight would be the night to give it a try and see where it goes,” Jaime explains, and against all odds, Brienne can’t seem to spot even so much as the hint of a lie, the hint of a joke.

Which begs all but one question: What does that mean to her?

“So you didn’t just ask me for a dance out of pity?” Brienne asks.

“ _Pity_?! You really think I would do that? I mean, I know that you don’t always hold me in the highest regards, but _c’mon_ , I am a classy kind of asshole, not the kind of douchebags you told me about when it came to that school ball,” Jaime argues.

“Which is an admission I regret to this very day,” Brienne mutters.

It was one of those occasions when she didn’t know what was happening until it was too late. The two were working nightshift after nightshift to get a presentation done for a team of investors coming from Essos that it almost seemed inevitable to spend at least some hours talking about the more private matters.

During that time, Brienne learned quite a lot about Jaime, some things she tends to think Jaime didn’t even tell his family about, the whole Aerys affair for instance, how the turnover and the man’s subsequent suicide had affected him beyond being called Kingslayer even by investors on occasion. Back then, Brienne thus only found it fair to tell him something private in turn, to keep up a kind of “truce” and that was when she started telling him about that stupid ball where the boys only ever asked her for a dance as part of a cruel kind of game.

And while it felt right that evening, alone at the company, Brienne found herself constantly questioning whether it was the right thing to do, whether Jaime would use it against her, weave it into the conversation with the other colleagues to make a good joke about it.

But that never happened.

He never did.

And that was what made her trust Jaime when he asked her for the dance, something Brienne didn’t find with whoever she may have been dating previously. She takes her time to rely on people, and it takes even more for Brienne to learn to trust someone, but Jaime somehow managed to make her take his hand and go over to the dancefloor even though the bad experiences of the past lurked in the shadows dancing on the walls when the light went on and off to match the beat of the music.

_I trust this man… I trust Jaime Lannister. Just what in the Seven Hells is going on here?_

“I thought it would be a good idea to… you know, change your perception of going out for a dance and all. Plus, it was the first-best opportunity. Though that… went very much down the drain, I am aware,” Jaime explains with a tight grimace.

“Are we seriously having this kind conversation right now behind a dumpster outside a club, with you… still in that condition?” Brienne asks.

Is she, in all sincerity, pondering those questions only just now? Brienne didn’t want to waste much of a thought on the job, or on Jaime in particular, once she got back from the company and dived back into her routines, stuck between training, chores, errands, eating, and watching TV shows. She welcomed the distraction, not having to think about how often that man made her blush, teased her and made her fight him back in turn, when normally, Brienne keeps to herself, keeps hiding away.

“Apparently we are. And trust me, this is not exactly an easy situation for me either. I am not used to making such an utter fool of myself, even less so to the one woman I came to like around the office. And that even though the Seven will know that it annoys the hells out of me that it has to be you of all people, because it’s just a constant fight with you. Always! Even right now you don’t seem to trust me that I am saying the truth when I am _really_ out on a limb here.”

“I… I trust you,” Brienne stammers. “It’s just… _This_ comes very unexpectedly.”

“Tell me about it. It _came_ unexpected, _hard_ ,” Jaime lets out a weary laugh, nodding at his crotch, where there is apparently still a battle going on. “So… at the risk of making this impossibly worse… may I ask how you would have reacted if it had really just been a dance without… the pocket rocket intervening? Just to save myself that last shred of dignity?”

“I don’t know what would have happened. I suppose _this_ … kind of clouds my judgment right now,” Brienne says, swallowing thickly.

What would have been if it had been just a dance?

If he had pulled her a little closer, flashing his typical kind of grin.

What would have that done it to her?

Brienne doesn’t know, or rather, she is afraid of the answer.

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Jaime huffs, blowing air out through his nostrils.

Brienne sucks her lower lip into her mouth pensively. Just _why_ does it bother her so much right now to see Jaime with downcast eyes, looking, for all she can judge, disappointed? Why does it disappoint her in turn? Why does it disappoint her that they didn’t just dance, didn’t simply have fun together, enjoyed the rhythm, the music, the beat under the strobe light?

Why does it feel like such a loss that this may well have been one of those _could-have-been-but-won’t-ever-be-again_ moments?

For a few seconds, Brienne just stands there, motionless. This is not like it was back during her teenage years, that much is for certain. This is not about being side-lined, being asked to watch the bags and purses because no one thought she had a chance to be asked for a dance anyway. This is not about a chance that never existed, but one that was there and was just… clouded by other _occurrences_.

There _was_ a dance – and therein lied a chance unused.

Jaime opens his mouth to say something, but that is when the hiss of the door opening flits across the alleyway, and he instinctively pulls Brienne back behind the dumpster to shield them from view. The door swings open and the sound of the R&B version of _Her Little Flower_ pours out into the street.

And if it is even physically possible, Brienne finds her heart beating faster yet again, faster than any techno beat could ever go. While she is now in the same periphery as she was to Jaime before, the angle is different, the perspective has changed.

Everything seems changed now.

The two watch in shock as their co-worker Tormund staggers out of the door, dragging with him someone who could be the recently divorced Lysa Tully _or_ someone else, neither one is quite sure as the red-haired woman keeps her back to them. Jaime and Brienne exchange a look as their colleague basically _licks_ across the poor woman’s face. Though to both their surprise, the lady almost shrieks in delight at the _affectionate_ _gesture_.

However, that is when both gingers lean to the side and hurl their guts out, down the stairs, onto the pavement with a wet splashing sound.

_Too many cocktails, it seems._

When the two straighten back up, they look at each other for a short moment, but then just resume kissing, not for a second thinking about cleaning themselves up. Brienne glowers at Jaime when he makes a gagging sound he appears to be unable to hold back.

Instead of going back inside to wash up, the two red-heads just continue tripping down the stairs, fumbling with their clothes already. Tormund definitely steps into the brownish puddle as he goes, as the squishing sound confirms. After that, the two stumble down the other way of the alley towards the main street, thankfully away from Jaime and Brienne who try their best to keep their mouths shut, so not to give themselves away.

“I think I am scarred for life now,” Jaime mutters once the two are gone for good, but then looks down himself. “But… it killed the snake! Seemingly, the wildling fellow _is_ good for something after all! Ha! Thank the Seven.”

Brienne wants to say something, but then becomes increasingly aware of the fact that Jaime’s hand is still resting on the hollow of her spine, just that this time, they are standing face-to-face and without the _pocket rocket_ threatening with a sudden launch. And even more so Brienne becomes aware of the fact that she doesn’t mind at all, despite the fact that all of this is happening in a shabby alleyway outside a club, behind a dumpster.

“Oh, sorry, I…,” Jaime stutters once he realizes that he still holds on to her. He already means to withdraw when Brienne grabs his hand and puts it back in place, surprising herself with a certainty she doesn’t find in her voice, but seemingly in her body.

“It’s alright,” Brienne whispers, quick to avert her gaze, because what exactly is she doing right now? This is certainly not the right occasion for any of this. This is not the usual procedure, this is not how things is supposed to go.

And yet, Brienne can feel Jaime’s hand hold on more firmly, can feel him pulling her closer, slowly, carefully, with the kind of gentleness she only ever found in his comforting smile when she told him about the school dance and there was no quip on his mind.

Jaime cups her chin with his free hand to guide her lips to his, and when they meet, Brienne momentarily sees the strobe lights before her eyes again. Because none of this makes any sense, and yet she finds herself completely falling into that moment, trusting him to catch her, even in some alleyway behind the dumpster, and Jaime does. He holds her close and Brienne, who normally always protects herself or others rather than having others shield her, finds herself safe within a man’s embrace, and that against the very odd odds this kiss was born from.

They pull apart, gasping for cold, soothing air to fill their straining lungs as their skins are already set ablaze from the intensity of the kiss. Jaime leans his forehead against hers, a feral grin tugging at his bruised lips.

_This is mad indeed._

But Brienne doesn’t really care anymore. She welcomes the heat about as much as the cool air tumbling down the alley.

“Really unexpected,” she mutters between ragged breaths, her lips involuntarily edging into an uncertain smirk when Jaime chuckles in agreement. He studies her for another moment before claiming her lips again, with a bit more force this time, daring more and more with every second, every beat of the heart that they move closer together. Brienne tousles the thick strands of his hair as they deepen the kiss, also becoming more daring, more demanding, because she wants this, wants him, right here, right now, odds notwithstanding, odds not mattering.

Jaime presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, pulling away slightly to brush his cheek against hers.

“I think we should slow down a bit or else we get the pocket rocket started again,” Jaime mutters into her ear. “And I would rather not have that repeat itself, at least not in some alleyway.”

“Right,” is all Brienne can bring herself to say.

“Do you want to get out of here, Brienne?” Jaime asks, his tone dark and wanting. She shivers.

“I still have to get my bag,” Brienne argues, unable to keep her voice from rising slightly towards the end, on the verge of becoming a whiny mewl.

Just what is this man doing to her?

Jaime leans his head into the hollow of her collarbone with a chuckle. “Then you do that. And I get us a taxi in the meantime. Deal?”

“… Deal,” Brienne agrees.

“Because I am _dying_ to meet Nestor,” Jaime snickers as he pulls away slightly, though he leaves his hands loosely on her hips a while longer, as though it was a position long since familiar to both.

“Who says that you get to see Nestor tonight?” Brienne asks, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He pulls her closer to himself another time, his fingertips digging into the soft skin of her hips. “Because I don’t know how long I will be able to keep my hands from you once we get inside your apartment.”

Brienne tilts her head to the side. “… Who says that I let you into my apartment?”

“It is truly always a fight with you,” Jaime grunts, but then flashes an almost sinister kind of grin when he brushes the back of his left hand up her toned stomach, which has Brienne involuntarily hiss in anticipation at what that would feel like if he were actually brushing against her skin and not her shirt alone.

“I think you did just now,” he chimes, way too pleased with himself already. “So get your back so we can get… on Nestor to launch a rocket.”

“That is still up to debate, but I will get the bag now. And you see about the taxi,” Brienne says, taking two steps back to free herself from Jaime, though the sudden shyness only ever seems to fuel his excitement.

_Maybe there are no men quite like Jaime Lannister after all._

Brienne then hurries back over to the stairs, careful to step into anything… _liquid_ … before opening the door. As she walks back inside, Brienne can already hear Jaime speaking on the phone, quite insistent on getting a taxi down here “immediately.”

 _He **is** serious about this, _ Brienne thinks to herself, unable to stop herself from flashing a small smile.

As quickly as possible, the young woman proceeds down the narrow hallway, noting with amusement that the queues for the bathrooms have only ever grown in size after a sign was added that a toilet is broken in each bathroom, which means that they certainly wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near a bathroom even if they had waited inside. Brienne shakes her head before proceeding to the people roaming around and on the dancefloor. She wades her way through the dancing, the drunk, and the Daiquiris, until Brienne finally comes out on the other side of the room where all of this madness began. Brienne hops on the bench and starts to go through the pile of bags to fish out her briefcase.

“Oh, hey, Brienne, there you are!” Brienne can hear Amerei Frey call out from behind her. She turns around to the busty woman.

“I hope you are having fun as well?” Amy continues, taking a sip Brienne is pretty sure is _not_ her drink.

“In a way, yes,” Brienne answers, already letting her attention go back to the pile of bags to finally find her own.

“Oh, that’s great,” Amy laughs, her eyes fixing on a guy making very clear gestures at her. “Hey, uhm, do you mind watching the purses just a bit longer? I just have to get to…”

However, Brienne interrupts her before Amy can finish, holding up her briefcase.

 “I am actually on the run,” Brienne tells her. “I have other plans.”

“Really? Oh well, if that’s the case… have fun, then,” Amy says, shrugging her shoulders.

“You, too. Thank you. Bye.”

“… Bye,” Amerei says as Brienne rushes off. “Guys, who is watching the bags now? Because you bet I won’t? Hello? Guys?”

Brienne makes a quick dash past the bar and over to the entrance to finally get outside to the main street. She catches sight of Jaime strides up and down the sidewalk, looking nervous for all she can say, which serves as a great relief for Brienne, because it assures her that she is not the only one uncertain about it.

That means they can fight that battle together.

Jaime tears his gaze up when he hears the door close shut behind her, a smile flashing across his feature when Brienne slowly approaches him.

“Took you forever.”

“I took five minutes.”

“As I said, you took _forever_ ,” Jaime insists, draping his arm around her waist to pull her to him, which has Brienne only ever chuckle, because she most certainly didn’t think her date with the couch would go such a way.

But then again, she didn’t think she would meet the rocket pocket tonight either.

As if on cue, the taxi pulls into the parking space before them. Jaime opens the door for her and gestures at Brienne to get inside. “My lady?”

Brienne can’t help but laugh when he even takes her hand to help her in – because both know he wouldn’t have to, because it feels just like the moment when he asked her for the dance and it dawned on her for a moment there that he was serious. And he is sincere right now, too, Brienne can see it, hear it, feel it.

She climbs inside, Jaime only just a step behind her.

“Where to?” the driver asks.

“Rosby Road 13a, please,” Brienne says, before looking at Jaime. “It seems my plans for the night have changed.”

“I think _Nestor_ is going to be really happy about that new schedule.”

“I doubt that. Also, I still have to watch my recording of _Buried Treasures of the Seven Kingdoms_.”

“Trust me, you will forget about those precious _swords_ in due time.”

“We will have to see.”

While Brienne won’t say so out loud, she finds herself looking forward to those new, unexpected things she is about to get to know.

And Brienne never would have gotten here, if she hadn’t let herself be dragged to the club.

Thus, all in all, it may be unexpected, it may be the oddest thing that ever happened to her, but now that she feels her hand resting in Jaime's, Brienne finds she doesn't mind at all, because this is a new kind of rhythm, a new kind of beat for her life that Brienne could well get used dancing to, so long it is with him.

 

_The End_


End file.
